


De la Rivera

by OmegaAinoko



Category: Coco (2017), Coco(2017) - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Suffering, Belief is a powerful thing okay, Brought to you by SPITE, Creepy Ernesto, Discrimination, Gaslighting, Happy Ending... eventually, Hector has a bad time, Hector's a DAD, Imelda is PURE RAGE, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, LGBT+, Miguel is TWELVE, Mpreg, Other, Paparazzi, Possessive Ernesto, Pregnancy, Shantytown Residents are the real MVPs, Some LotD Politics, The Land of the Dead kind of runs on it, The Media is not your Friend, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-07 18:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15913659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmegaAinoko/pseuds/OmegaAinoko
Summary: Memory, Belief.The way that the Land of the Dead works pretty simply all things considered. It's run by memories and belief. Belief, unfortunately, beliefs can be vague and varied, and misunderstood, and have consequences that no one could expect. A young child believes many things after all, and a simple misunderstanding can warp into consequences nobody could expect.It's innocent enough, except that it's not innocent at all, and one of the worst crimes that you could commit still has consequences and fallout. Just ones that nobody would have expected while still alive, and even when dead, it's incredibly rare.Poor Hector certainly didn't sign up for pregnancy, but he has to deal with it, as do the rest of the Riveras.And Ernesto, the one who caused it... He's just going to sit under that bell,where he belongs.





	1. Dominio(Control)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brought to you by SPITE, the best/worst motivator...
> 
> So.. uh anyway, first off, mind those tags. Please. This is going to be something of a roller-coaster(and I'll probably be changing the tags as I go a bit, to keep them accurate). Especially regarding the particular subject that it's centered around... so yeah. 
> 
> Also, this is not a happy Ernector story. While that ship is here, it's not in any way healthy. It's not here for fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, PLEASE! This chapter has a rape scene(or really it's mostly a _rape_ scene...). Please take care of yourselves...

Skeletal fists pound uselessly against the locked door. It's all that he can do, screaming, pleading, begging for someone, anyone to let him out. He didn't want to be locked away like this until he was forgotten. He just wanted to go home. Please...

He could feel the sting at the edge of his eyes, wet building at the edge of his sockets.

His pleas slowly trail into silence, and he chokes on air, unable to even really sob. He's trapped and he knows it. No one's going to come and let him out. Resigned he slides down against the door lowering his skull just enough to rest it against the polished wood, another choked breath escaping his mouth. Until he raises his head up, able to hear approaching footsteps.

Something uncomfortable twists beneath his ribcage and he backs away suddenly wary. There's a window to his left, maybe he could-

There's a click and with a small whine the door swings open.

The figure who steps inside is familiar. Once a friend, a  _brother,_  but now. He can only shake, anger, hurt, betrayal still fresh even though it's really been years. But beneath those sharp, burning emotions there is something else that sinks into his bones, something reflected in what he can see in his former friend's eyes that's makes him feel sick and heavy...

He shakes, backing away further, mind screaming in alarm as the man locks the door behind himself after entering.

Locking them in together.

There's still the window, if he could just-

"Héctor." The tone his name is said in gives him pause, catching him between two instincts. There's something familiar in the tone, a shade of affection, but there are alarm bells going off. Still all he finds that he can do in clench his hands into fists, and back away slightly, keeping the window just in the corner of his vision.

"Ernesto!" he snaps, a tremble in his bones. "What do you want? To brag? Rub in the fact I'm never going home? You've already won!" he chokes slightly on the words. Because that's the truth isn't it. The only one here who's won is Ernesto. "W-well you don't have to... I already know those things..." he rubs at his sockets angrily, before hesitating.

Ernesto has remained oddly silent through his outburst, no mocking remarks, no cutting in with any kind of explanation. Just standing there watching him. Again, Héctor is acutely away of the state he's in. Tattered barely holding on clothing, yellowed and cracked bones, with tape wrapped around and keeping him together. He shivers, unconsciously, pulling his jacket slightly and wilting under his former friend's gaze.

A gaze that is just slightly too intense.

Alarm bells are ringing loud and clear as Ernesto steps forwards, a sick feeling coiling beneath his ribcage and he barely registers that he's moving until he's there and the window isn't. opening. He frantically finds himself tugging, uselessly. It remains sealed shut and there's a dark, low laugh from somewhere behind him. With wide eyes, and a chill down his spine he peeks over his shoulder.

Ernesto is right there, and he darts, ducking around the older skeleton and to the door, if he can just-

A hand catches the back of his jacket. Yanking him back and he can only make a choked off yelp. He's airborne for all of a handful of seconds before landing on soft sheets and pillows. Scrambling, trying to orientate himself when the mattress dips with yet more added weight. Arms cage his head, and he's forced to look up and meet his red-tinted brown with Ernesto's darker gold tinged eyes.

He squirms, uselessly, unable to do anything to escape as he feels Ernesto shift above him. One of Ernesto's legs slipping between his legs, leaning forwards and...

No, no!

"No!" his arms come up, trying to push Ernesto away, only the action is useless, too little, too late. Too weak. His arms buckle, not quite straight enough to catch and hold Ernesto up. Ernesto's weight is too much, and the older skeleton is easily able to overpower his weak attempt at fighting him off. A hand comes around and his wrists are caught.

Ernesto lets out that same low, dark laugh. His arms are moved up over his head, and he lets out a whimper as Ernesto leans further over him. There's a weak attempt at kicking out with his legs, unable to really do anything. No way to lever himself, or aim properly at all, the only thing it serves to do is uselessly twist him around.

Ernesto leans forwards, soon resting his skull in the crook of his neck causing him to still for a moment, eyes going wide and ribcage trembling.

"No!" he says it again, but his arms are useless. He's barely able to even twitch them in Ernesto's grasp. He can feel the breath at his neck, and the tickle of hair under his chin, he wants so badly to pull away. A wet stinging feeling build's up at the edges of his sockets as Ernesto's other hand moves, he can feel it, fingers dancing over his ribcage as the man pulls back slightly.

Now he can recognize that look in the older man's golden eyes.

"Ahh, Héctor..." his name is said like a breath, almost like a prayer and he shakes his head, almost desperate. There's a knee between his legs, a hand holding his arms up over his head, and wandering fingers. But all he can think is static, a buzz of fear, of all the things that Ernesto could have wanted with him. "I could never hate you..."

"No!" It's more of a whimper now, there's a tingling in his bones, a confused sort of energy that makes him squirm. He's not familiar with this, at least not in this way, but he does know kind of where it's heading.

"It's been a long time amigo." Ernesto leans down again, and he freezes as the older skeleton's lips just barely brush his own. There's a niggling feeling at the back of his mind, an extra bit to that memory... "I missed you so much!"

"YOU MURDERED ME!" He screams, attempting to yank his arms free once more, but only succeeding in awkwardly arching beneath Ernesto, who's eyes almost lazily rake over his form.

"You gave me no choice!" The words cause him to still, and there's a pressure on his pelvis. He blinks, confused, before the pressure increases, just subtly and- He lets out a sound, keening, instinctive and confused, a jolt of something coiling through him. Racing up his spine and back down, a jolt of hot energy. "I couldn't just let you leave, not for that puta..."

"D-don't talk about Imelda like that..." he whimpers as yet more pressure is applied to his pelvis, the niggling feeling is growing, and there're alarm bells ringing. The tremble going through his bones isn't just from that energy and there's a sick feeling sinking into them as well. Just behind the tingle, an awareness of what's going on, what Ernesto wants, what's about to happen. "No!"

Uselessly, he tries again to lever himself free, even as Ernesto's free hand wanders, fingers dancing over his ribs, tracing their way slowly down, before sliding down his veterbrae and circling the uncovered edges of his pelvis. He lets out a snarl as he feels Ernesto tug at the rope that serves as his belt, and again tries to lever Ernesto off him.

It's all ultimately useless, as Ernesto gets the rope off, and swiftly moves to use it to bind his arms up where they are, taking the chance to steal another kiss, leaving him whimpering, uselessly trying to pull away. He can't do a thing. Ernesto pulls back. Looking far, far too satisfied with himself.

"No... there's only one thing I want from you now Héctor..." the man says, practically purring his name.

"Er-Ernesto...?" There are definite tears at the edges of his eye-sockets as the man looms over him, hand slipping the straps of his suspenders off, pulling them down. Exposing his pelvis all the more, and now the thrill of fear is so much stronger, so much worse, there is only one way this can go, and Héctor finds his teeth seeking the purchase of lips that he barely has. He shakes his head desperately, part of him praying that this was all some kind of nightmare.

A sick dream. Ernesto hadn't murdered him, he wasn't about to be  _raped_  by his former best friend, his practical  _brother_ , no, it was all a nightmare a-

He lets out another involuntary keen, feeling the pressure once more at his pelvis, and a gentle rubbing. It's odd, it's uncomfortable, but he can't help but find himself bucking up slightly, a whine making its way from him. The wandering hands are horrible, and again he wrenches himself, desperate to find some way to escape.

Something, anything.

"I've wanted this for so long..." the words make him choke as again Ernesto is pressing down on him. Mouth over his, and there's another jolt. A harsh clack as Ernesto's hips thrust against his own. He squeezes his eyes shut as the energy rises. Trying desperately again to do something, anything to escape. "I've wanted you for so long..."

He lets out a whimper as Ernesto pulls back, and shakes his head. There are sparks in his bones, but over that jolting there is the pure chill. The horrific realization of what's going on. And he can't really do anything, Ernesto's hands feel like they're everywhere. All over him, and then they're slipping up his spine and under his ribcage. He feels himself arch again as more pressure is pressed on his pelvis. And there's a burning at the edges of his sockets.

No, no.

He doesn't want this!

"No! Por favor Ernesto!" he gasps ribcage heaving as Ernesto presses down again. There's only another dark chuckle, and he whimpers. The hands in his ribcage shift, curling under his ribs, and Ernesto pulls him closer. He squirms, legs pushing against the blankets, desperately trying to scramble and get him away. Out from beneath Ernesto. His breath catches as Ernesto's hips shift and there's another dark chuckle from above him. He might not need oxygen anymore, but there's still a stuttering in his chest, a light-headedness that comes with sheer panic. "Por favor, no me hagas esto!" It's a desperate plea, and it's ignored.

Ernesto rocks against him, something desperate in golden eyes, and he squeezes his own shut. He can't look, he can't see. A single hand moves up into his hair, fastening his head to the sheets below them.

"Open your eyes! I want you to see just who you belong to!" The voice is a growl, and he shakes his head. No, he's not going to give Ernesto the satisfaction of- He lets out a yelp, involuntarily his eyes fly open. One of Ernesto's hands is now circling his pelvis, the other remains in his hair. And he's forced to meet Ernesto's eyes. To see the malicious glee, the triumph in them. He feels more tears, as Ernesto pulls back, before returning to thrusting against him.

He's helpless, helpless.

And he can't even close his eyes to escape. Ernesto is practically purring over him, enjoying it. But all he can think about is how he wants to push Ernesto away, able to feel his arms straining, the rope tight and binding them. He could try kicking again, but his legs feel useless, as if they've become solid blocks. Unable to do much more than twitch.

And that feeling, the pressure building up, humming in his bones. A jolting static that fills his head, overtaking even the fear and the sick feeling. It's horrible. And it makes him whimper, as the man over him begins to move faster, muttering things that he can't quite hear, can't comprehend with everything rolling over in his head.

There's a sharp burst of something...

A pressure, and he lets out a shriek at the feeling. His body jolting, and Ernesto smirks above him, clearly sure that he's made his point. He blinks, watery eyes up at him, ribcage heaving. Something in him hurts and there's a weakness that wasn't there before. A hand moves to his cheek and he shudders.

A second later there's a roar, and Ernesto is pulling back, terror on his face.

Héctor barely has the energy to lift his head. Just in time to witness the form of a familiar giant winged-cat crash through the window. There's a thrill of terror that bolts through him at the sight, an instinctive need to bolt himself backwards. To get away from the angry-dangerous-mad alebrije. To escape. But he's still pinned, Ernesto's still on top of him.

Someone's shouting, furious defensive.

He whimpers recognising the voice. No, no! But his mind can't seem to decide which is worse, that she's seeing him helpless like this, pinned beneath Ernesto or-

"Héctor!" Another familiar voice crashes into his thoughts and scrambles them, and he gasps, a sob catching in his throat in realization. Ernesto didn't send the chamaco home, he... he... and he's seeing this! A thrill of horror mixing with shame washes through him, even as Ernesto is dragged off him, and there are hands pulling at the rope binding his arms. He flinches, a desperate fear running through him.

For a moment the hands are Ernesto's again and he thrashes.

Distantly he can hear Imelda, screaming furious, Miguel chimes in with something, and he hears Ernesto's yelp, footsteps fleeing, and Imelda shouting after them. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut and tries to block out the sounds, because he can't...

He can't...

"Héctor?" Miguel's close, right there and-

"Héctor!" That's Imelda's voice still angry and he flinches again. Body trembling, and he wants to cry. Because he knows if he opens his eyes that anger's going to be fully focused on him. And he deserves it. "Héctor..." her voice is softer, now, almost sounding worried. "Qué bastardo hacer para usted?" The anger is back, but very definitively not aimed at him. Slowly he opens his eyes, and Imelda isn't even looking at him, she's turned away, glaring at the door.

Off to the side Miguel is standing there, looking between the two of them with an expression that he can't quite place. But it seems that the boy is coming to some kind of realization.

"He-Héctor... are you-" Miguel hesitates, eyes darting to Imelda before returning to him. "Are you my real great-great-grandpa? Mama Imelda's... esposo?" he winces at the question, and Imelda spins around, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed.

"S-si?" it almost sounds like a question to his own ears. As if he's unsure.

"We don't have time for this!" Imelda's voice snaps, and he finds himself pulling back, automatically. Once more he squeezes his eyes shut, fully expecting that anger to be directed towards him. But instead there are surprisingly gentle hands helping him up, and finally that rope is off his arms, and he's able to pull his suspenders back up, a feeling of shame. His head is lowered, and he feels horrible. "Now come on!"

He flinches, both at the tone, and the hands trying to lead him. There's a rumbling sound coming from somewhere, distantly familiar, but not quite right. He sees a familiar alebrije, and his eyes widen in realization, he wants to pull back and away. He wants to object, but he's gently manoeuvred onto the feline's back, Miguel scrambling up beside him, and before he can reach panic they're off.

Up into the air.

"So... d-does this mean Papa Héctor's going to get pregnant?"

What? That is not something he expects to hear and it causes him to flinch. In surprise and with a jolt of fear. He's not exactly well-remembered, with only one person, one person remembering him, that's just inviting a hiccup in the system.

"D-don't say th-that Ch-chamaco!" his breath is more of a whine, fear upping the pitch. He doesn't want to even think of that possibility, not now. Especially not with how aware he is of his own state. Imelda's not responding either, focusing on directing the alebrije they're on. And as they come in for a landing he shivers. He doesn't want to even get down, he doesn't want-

"Héctor!" he winces and slides down off Pepita. Swaying when he lands on his feet, the vertigo hitting him. "Who has that petal?" Imelda's snapping, hands holding him up and he's blinking, not sure how to react, wanting to pull away and lean into the touch simultaneously. His eyes catch something bright, a petal of golden-amber, a marigold petal.

He can't really hear the words that Imelda speaks, only able to see the petal light up. To see Miguel nod his head, to see the chamaco reach out and take it.

In a whirl of marigold the boy is gone.

And Héctor collapses.


	2. Miedo(Fear)

When he stirs the first thing that he's distantly aware of is soft sheets against his worn bones. It's almost like he's floating, the sheets light against him, and even the mattress is plush and comfortable.

 _Danger, danger_ , his ribs constrict, a certain tightness winds its way around his cervical vertebrae. His body feels stiff, strung tight and quivering in place. He can't move, can't think, he's in danger, but he can't move. He can't do a thing, his limbs weighed down with a certain heavy weight that he wishes were unfamiliar to him. He wishes that it weren't familiar, especially in that moment.

Because he could feel sheets, so soft, so light. The plush mattress, the light cover over him.

 _Danger, danger_.

He thrashes, everything in him screaming, telling him that he needs to get away. He can feel material wrapping itself around him, and distantly he's aware of voices. No, no! His mouth opens, a scream ready in the back of his non-existent throat. A choked cry is all that escapes, and he twists, the voices are closer, and he can feel people approaching him.

_No, no!_

He can't escape, the material over his body wrapping around him, trapping him.

There are hands on him, pulling at the sheets, trying to reach him. He can't struggling desperately, trying to escape, a whine breaking free from his throat, a sound that echoes in his skull. Echoes in his head, and rattles down into his ribcage and other bones. A desperate sound that he can't help.

That rattle echoes as well, and the hands pull back, almost as if they're scared. Almost as if they're worried.

But it's a lie, it's fake, he knows that it is, and struggles, thrashing desperately trying to escape as the hands return, there's a distant voice, vaguely familiar, snapping and. No, no! No! He doesn't want to hear that anger now. He whines again, body trembling terror coiling through him, there's a rumble, distant but also familiar and he wants to scream.

Hands, green, a jolting tingle through his body and soul.

His eyes snap open, darting around an unfamiliar room, there are people around, but he can't really tell who they are. Purple, pink, white pressed tailor suits, he can't. He scrambles desperately, not recognizing anyone and just knowing that he had to get away, he has to get out of there. The material of the bedsheets tangles around him, catching him as he pulls away and backwards and he can only yelp as he topples off and with a clatter hits the ground.

Someone approaches him and he lets out a whimper at the sound of their approach, desperately pushing himself up and scrambling further away, shaking his head.

He could be making words with his voice, or he could not, he's just desperately trying to get away.

Hands reach for him and voices echo and he pulls in on himself, hands coming up defensively, breaths speeding up, ribcage heaving, tightening and struggling to just shift and move, there's a whining in his head, a pressure in his bones, they're all rattling and bumping together and he just wants to get away.

His back hits a wall and his eyes squeeze shut.

Rapid breaths, the tightness in his ribcage, hands touch him and he can't.

His head spins, and he can't breathe, can't do anything.

Mercifully, everything falls away, and he just goes back to the welcoming darkness where there's nothing awaiting him.

* * *

His next awakening is only slightly better. The soft material isn't quite as constricting this time and he can breathe, but he still doesn't know where he is, and the material is  _too soft_  against his bones. There's a pounding in his cranium and a chill in his bones.

But it's dark, and peering vaguely towards the window, he can see that it's night time. He's also alone this time.

There are no figures, no voices, no hands reaching for him. He takes a shuddery breath, and curls up. His limbs pull close together shifting under the blankets and he squeezes his eyes shut. Another shuddery breath, repressed sobs, and he can't, there's a sickness creeping through his bones.

A pain when he thinks about.

_No, NO!_

He shudders, the feeling of hands, bone against bone, that voice purring over him. There's a rising scream in the back of his cervical vertebrae, a painful ache at the back of his throat, but he swallows it down, choking on the feeling.

He doesn't know where he is or who screaming will draw to him.

There are distant footsteps and he stills, one hand clenching into the material. Hushed voices and conversations echo beyond the door and again his ribcage constricts. Heaving and there's a rushing feeling in his skull, he pulls himself tighter, bones rattling together as he desperately hopes that those steps keep going.

Don't come in, don't, don't...

There's a creek, the shuddering whine of hinges left unattended and he forces himself still, praying that they don't...

Footsteps approach and he can't. He feels himself rattling, eyes desperately staring towards the window, but he's sure it'll be locked. There will be no escape through the window, only a false hope and-

There's extra weight nearby, the bed he's on dips and his breath catches. Ribcage stilling, hand twisting the sheets and breath holding. He can't, he can't. His eyes slip shut, desperately trying to block out his awareness of.

A hand reaching-

He's out from beneath the blanket before he even registers that he's moving. Desperately he goes for the window, he's got to try and-

It slips open, and he doesn't stop, flinging himself out within a breath and crashing to the ground. There's a momentary jolt of pain, of disorientation, but he's already-

Reverse, reverse, there's a rumbly displeased sound from the giant green winged cat in front of him as he practically swivels around 180°. His feet send him across the courtyard and away-

Only to scramble a different direction when twin figures appear, and he can't-

There's someone else a dress, a familiar figure, although a little bit taller maybe-

Short and in a hat-

Kindly, motherly seeming-

Purple, angry and holding a shoe-

He can't... no matter which direction he tries to flee someone or something is there and he eventually finds himself scrambling back against a wall again, ribcage shuddering as his eyes dart around. He doesn't know what they're going to do, why's he here? What are they all doing, his hands press against the wall, pushing him further back and he wants nothing more than to go right through the wall.

They're moving closer voices washing over him, almost familiar, distantly worried.

His breathing gets faster, and he lets out a whine, sliding down the wall slightly. There's a pounding echo in his skull, spots in his vision and once more, he just gives in to the blackness.

* * *

The third time he comes to awareness he's not alone. There's a panting by his skull, a familiar presence.

A more welcome presence.

"D-Dante?" his voice is croaky and weak, barely a breath really, and his eyes flutter open to stare at the xolo.

The panting continues for a moment or two. Happy eager eyes gaze at him, and there's some real relief. Dante won't judge him or harm him, or be mad. Dante's just happy to be there, it helps, and he can actually take stock of where he is. He's... still under blankets and sheets, too soft, too nice. Too comfortable and he shudders again at the feeling, before shoving them away to a whine from the xolo. But it's comforting to be out from under them.

The matress isn't... actually as soft as the one that-

_No, no, he doesn't want this!_

He closes his eyes, a scream building again, and his bones rattling. There's a wet and rough feeling over his skull and his eyes snap open in surprise. Dante lets out a small sound and paddles himself forwards just slightly and he almost wants to lean away for a moment, not sure how to react. The xolo pants some more, before repeating the action.

It's so odd, so strange that he can't help but let out a small laugh.

It's soft, almost non-existent, but it's there. It's something that he's free to express.

Dante, happy with that flops slightly onto him, and he lets out another light almost laugh and curls himself into the xolo. His eyes slip shut and he curls more into the canine. There's a tremble in his bones again, an ache distant and familiar, a coiling dizziness. He shudders at the feeling. There's a moment when he's not sure of why he's feeling it, before he shakes himself.

Obviously it's because he's been panicking so much.

Still is. Dante's whole body is shaking where he's holding onto the xolo, moving with each eager and happy pant, it's soothing really, a comfort. But, there's something a little bit off with that image, he opens his eyes again, rolling over slightly just to look at the xolo.

The canine still looks, normal. Compared to other alebrijes that he's seen and is familiar with. Dante's still just, a regular ole' xolo. Just a regular dog. There is something wrong with that thought but he's not sure what it is.

He squints his eyes at Dante, who happily looks at him, tongue lolling out of the xolo's mouth.

It's odd, because the xolo still looks the same and yet. He almost can see vague patterns flicker over the canine's fur and small pokey wings out to the side, and he blinks and the image disappears. Dante is just, Dante.

It's reassuring.

Dante hasn't changed from how the Xolo was when he met him at the start of the night. Hasn't changed from when-

A gasp escapes him and he bolts upright, eyes widening in shock and realization. Miguel, the chamaco! Did he get home alright? He frantically wracks his brain for any recollection of what had happened.

They had confronted Ernesto, more incidentally than actually on purpose, there had been some kind of yelling, he had attacked Ernesto...

The room, the bed, hands, and pressure and  _Miguel was still there!_

Miguel saw, he chokes for a moment, the memory stark in his head and a chilling creep of shame coils through his bones, he curls. Arms hugging himself. He wants to whimper, but Dante is there, the xolo leaning against him, reminding him that he has to think.

He-

He stills, eyes flying wide at another realization, he knows how close he was... he knows how much he could feel it creeping up, sneaking up on him. He stares at himself, curling his hands together and just staring. He's still here.

He's still remembered.

Another chill, there's another echo.

_"Does this mean Papa Héctor going to get pregnant?"_

He shudders, a heaviness seeping into his bones again. He wants to collapse, and he dreads the thought. It swirls in his head and leaves him feeling sick, like he wants to heave. He wants to cough, claw at the feeling until it's gone. It was an innocent statement, a childish one. But he can't stop to think about it.

There's a deeper fear behind that. A deeper worry, an innocent misunderstanding but with his state.

He still feels barely remembered. And Miguel had said-

Miguel had called him Papa? There's a record scratch in his head as he comes to a wall. That realization slowly mulling over his head. Miguel had called him  _Papa Héctor_ , not just Héctor. There's a furrow in his browline, a confusion as he turns that over in his head, why would the chamaco have-

Footsteps echo and approach and he jolts, head snapping around to stare once more at the door, a mounting horror. His eyes dart, finding the window, and again he's ready to-

There's a small whine, a sound that pulls his flight up short. He looks back, eyes scanning the room nervously until they find Dante. The xolo is down low, looking at him with large soulful eyes, holding him there and pleading with him. Desperately pleading for him to stay.

He wants to run, he wants to leave.

He can't face them, his ribcage is still heaving and those memories, that sensation.

But, he can't. He takes a deep breath, and slowly backs away from the window. His footsteps are heavy as he pulls away. It's almost painful to walk back to the bed and to sit himself down. There's a breath, a heavy intake of air, and he looks desperately one last time to the window.

One last time, before settling in and waiting.

But the echoing footsteps just pass straight by. He's left alone. There's a pause, a moment of still before he lets out a breath.

He just deflates, and goes back to thinking over what had happened.

The room, the bed,  _hands_ , Miguel, Imelda? He flinches for a moment, remembering her rage, her anger and fury, voice screaming defensive and aggressive. After that, Pepita, up in the air and that horrible chill, that sick coiling shame, and after-

A flair of marigold and whoosh of familiar petals.

Miguel's home.

Miguel was sent home, that also relieves him. Because Imelda sent-

His mind screeches to another stop. He goes back over that thought, that realization that thought. Imelda sent the chamaco home, Imelda was the one who sent Miguel  _home_ , she was the one who had given the chamaco his blessing to send him home. That meant, that meant. His breathing begins to hasten again, that realization mixing with the earlier one of the title that Miguel had used for him.

He can't, he shakes, trembling and curling in on himself. Dante whimpers again, moving closer to him and nosing at his side. He shudders for a moment, before taking a deep breath. Footsteps again, and his head snaps up, ribcage heaving. He wants to bolt again, he wants to run but-

Dante lets out a small whine, the xolo creeping closer to him. He flinches, before moving one hand. Resting it gently on top of the canine's head. It's reassuring, it's a solid grounding presence.

Dante's company helps him to ground himself, and he takes another breath. The door handle moves, and he has to fight not to bolt, eyes again darting to the window, a forced shuddering breath. The door opens, a familiar face, a familiar dress.

"H-Hola I-Imelda..." he can feel a strained forced grin, Dante flopped into his side, leaning against him.

Time to face the music. 


	3. Hablar(Talk)

There's an odd kind of thrumming behind his ribcage, a pressure that's there when he stares at Imelda. He can't quite place the expression that she's wearing and it makes him shiver. At least he's not completely alone facing her. There's the flopped heavy weight of a canine pressing into his side.

Pants that shake him as well and he takes a deep breath. Preparing himself as she steps forwards.

She doesn't fully close the door behind her, and some small part of him is relieved. It's still accessible, and if he needs to run. His eyes dart, that urge to bolt rising up again. The thing that offsets it is Dante, the canine letting out a small whine and pressing just that little bit closer to him.

Imelda pauses, something flickering through her eyes, too quick for him to be able to settle his phalanges on it.

Still he swallows, hands twitching. One resting still on Dante's head and the other twisting, curling into the sheet on the bed. And there's a rising heat in the back of his cervical vertabrae a sick coil in his chest. His eyes dart, and he lowers his head, feeling her approach more than watching it now.

He doesn't feel like he can meet her eyes.

His squeeze shut, a tremble rocking through his bones.

"Héctor." her voice is stern, tight and he swallows. A useless action but it pushes the pressure down as he raises his head up just slightly and looks at her. Eyes wide and he takes a shuddery breath. "¿Cómo te sientes?"

He takes a breath, not sure if he could really answer that question.

How does he feel. He shudders. Curling in on himself slightly. Queasy, uncomfortable, scared.

"Fine..." he chokes out, around a cord of fear and a tightness in his ribs over the lie. He can immediately tell that she's frowning at him, without needing to look. Dante whines again, the xolo wriggling closer to him and he swallows. "Better, maybe?" he mumbles voice sounding like it's getting softer and he feels a tightness in his ribcage, that burning in his non-existent throat.

The softness of the bed he's on is not helping. It's not as soft as the other was, and it is fuller, with a companion but.

But it's still too close and he can feel the phantoms of hands, that horrible sensation of being unable to escape to do anything. He shifts, still wanting to-

"Héctor, cómo realmente siente?" he flinches. He can't answer that, a sick coiling feeling winding around his bones and chilling him. He feels Dante shift, the canine whining again and a rough wet swipe over his hand. He opens his eyes again, letting them drift to the xolo.

Another whine, another whimper and he takes a breath, he could say this, he could do this, he just needs to-

The words catch somewhere in his throat. And only a breathy kind of gasp escapes him. There's a pressure in his cervical vertebrae an odd kind of strangled feeling and he chokes again. The hand not on Dante's head shooting up to curl there, almost defensively. He wheezes, and there's a flare of worry, Imelda moves-

He flinches, pulling back and away from her shaking his head.

"N-no... don't... don't..." it hurts, the words like gravel pulled from his throat and he curls in on himself, whimpering as Dante whines.

"Héctor..." It's not right that she sounds so worried over him. It's not right and he curls himself more, tighter and around Dante. His whole body trembling. Imelda pulls back, and there's something pained in her gaze, but he can't look at her, can't face her.

There's a horrible coil in him, a sense of brokenness and how can she even look at him after what state she found him in.

He feels another rising swell of dizziness and his head spins. Dante whines, again licking his hand, an odd feeling that pulls him out of at least some of it. But that dizzy ache doesn't go away and he feels his face go a little slack, a substitute for his lack of flesh.

His marrow feels chilled and sluggish and distantly he wonders how it must affect how he appears if at all.

Still he manages to find his voice.

"B-better." because it's the truth, he feels better than when- he shudders closing his eyes again and shaking his head.

"Héctor..."

"It'll get better..." he mumbles, telling himself it more than Imelda. "It'll get better..." he pulls himself tight, coiling around Dante all the more, and the xolo whines. He shivers, uncurling himself, sure he's hurt the canine before the xolo is shifting and there's a familiar swipe of a tongue over his face. He takes another breath and looks at Imelda. "Lo siento Imelda..."

"No... Héctor." there's a pause, and he blinks up at her, confused. "I'm the one who needs to say that." her voice is soft, and while the words make sense, he doesn't understand them. His brow pulls in and he looks away, trying to understand why she's saying that, what does she need to apologise for?

He's the one who's broken and who couldn't do a thing.

He's the one who left, and never came home... he. He curls again, this time away from Dante.

"Héctor, lo siento." he shakes his head. A tremble in his bones, a sick coiling twist and an odd heat. Because that's wrong, she's apologizing and he doesn't understand why, can't understand why. It doesn't make any sense to him. So he swallows, and chooses to leave it there.

"Wh-what happened?" he asks instead, trying to figure out that. There's a moment of silence, and Imelda just stares at him, he squirms, shifting and feeling incredibly small. "I... there was a lot going on..." he explains, but it feels weak.

Fake, false, a lie.

It's not entirely the truth sure, but it's not that much of a lie either. Merely a simplification of the issue. Imelda moves closer, sitting herself onto the bed and as it dips with her added weight he feels his breath hitch, catching somewhere in his ribcage and coiling. She's not paying attention, and his reaction goes unnoticed except by Dante.

Again the xolo moves, paddling on the sheets and wriggling closer to him, offering him some sort of odd comfort. He swallows, a burning feeling coiling again, and that horrible shiver.

For a moment Imelda's not Imelda but someone bigger and broader and he feels himself pull back as she raises her head to look at him.

A tremble, a coil.

"Héctor," there's a purse in her voice, a tightness "What do you remember?" she asks and he pauses.

He's not sure what to tell her. Not sure what to say in response to her question. Still he takes a shaky breath, pushing away that sick coiling feeling and thinks back over that night. He thinks about how the rest of the night was, what does he remember?

He takes another breath, and curls his arms around, rubbing his humerus bones, and not quite looking at her.

"I... I remember trying to cross." he mumbles, voice low and wobbly, barely managing to not crack. "I... I was Frida... got into trouble afterwards, apparently falsifying an unibrow is illegal... who knew..." he manages a weak smile. "Then I met the chamaco... he uh, there was a phone booth... he said he needed help finding his Great-great grandpa-"

"What?" Imelda's voice is shrill and sharp and he flinches, bolting back and away from her, barely keeping from falling off the mattress. Sure that if he did he'd find himself bolting fully. "But he just found you!"

"I-"

"No..." there's a horrific moment, where he falls silent, waiting for Imelda to expand on her realization. She glances to him, eyes scanning him over and he feels a shiver. That tremble and much like when he was under Ernesto's gaze.

He shudders, and wraps his arms tighter around himself, staring with wide eyes and waiting for her to do something. Instead she shakes her head, a hand raising up to cover her mouth, a realization in her eyes.

"You... you were being forgotten..." there's this shudder in her voice and he awkwardly, jerkily nods his skull. "Miguel... he didn't know that..."

"I... wasn't aware that the chamaco was-" he cuts himself off, a shuddery breath. "He said... so, I... I wanted him to take my photo..."

"He did!" Imelda confirms and he bolts his head up, eyes staring wide and confused at her. "He took your photo back. Was part of why we went back."

"Oh..." he mumbles, looking away once more. Not quite sure how to take that. "b-but... I agreed to help him..." he rubs at his humerus bones again, swallowing. "We... our first stop was the Rehearsal Hall... b-but he wasn't there... and afterwards, we fetched a guitar and-" he cuts himself off staring for a moment into the air.

He stares down at his hands, drawing them in front of himself. Staring down at his yellowed bones, another realization hitting him all at once. Like a wave crashing down he's suddenly back in that shack, sitting on the hammock with all the clutter around, almost absently tuning that old beat up guitar and asking.

_"Any requests"_

_"You know my favourite Héctor"_

He closes his eyes, a tremble going through his bones. A deep aching pain behind his ribcage as a small whine breaks from between clenched teeth. A pain so familiar. Acute and sharp and there's another rush of dizziness a rush of.

"Héctor?" Imelda's voice draws him back and he forces himself to take a shuddery breath.

"I... we..." he chokes on the words, struggling through the dizzy ache and overwhelming dark coil of heaviness that makes him want to fall back and collapse. Fall into a pile of bones and cry until there's nothing left. A pile of misery to let himself just process everything. "I played... first time since..." he lets the words fall away, not even sure. "And then we entered that competition... and-"

He can remember that. The swell of the crowd, the cheers and people calling out as they danced around and in hindsight.

Was it any wonder he was in such synch with the chamaco? He stares again at his hands. More contemplative now. And swallows.

"They loved him..." he breathes, a smile spreading across his face. "They loved the chamaco, he done so well. I... I was so proud!" Still is really, and he couldn't be more proud of the kid. Couldn't be prouder of Miguel for what he managed on that stage. Dancing around and performing.

To think that it was the kids first-

"I thought that was you up on stage." his eyes snap back open, and he whips around to stare at Imelda. Not sure how else to react to her admittance. "Can't believe none of us noticed Miguel there." Her arms are crossed and while it's not funny.

He finds a very weak chuckle coming from his mouth and Dante lets out another wriggle, happily panting and looking between them. He strokes the xolo's head again, a more sombre expression crossing his face.

It feels like it should be a surprise that none of them noticed the chamaco up there with him.

It feels like it should be a surprise.

But all he can feel is that certainty that it isn't. After all for years he's been the outside observer noticing just how far the music ban ran. And even here. He finds himself shivering again, remembering the ban and just wondering.

Where does he stand now? How much of him being here is pity, how much is just until he recovers and then-

He closes his eyes again. Ducking his head.

"Héctor... I caught up with Miguel after that." Imelda's frown is strong enough to be felt, heard even without looking at her. "Where-"

"There was a fight..." he mutters. "And... I lost the chamaco... but... but..." he swallows. That horrible feeling bubbling up beneath his ribcage. That queasy chill and an echo of a jolt, phantom hands and music, the sea of voices of the crowd. "I... caught up with him... and there was Ernesto... a movie was playing and..."

What happened?

He got mad? He struggles, breath catching and the words tumbling together into a sound that breaks into the air. Something that he can't verbalize. He can't even begin to explain what happened. He can't. His bones rattle, all of them knocking together as he struggles to find the words. To even begin to.

"It didn't end well..." Imelda breathes. "But nothing happened. I... I found Miguel in a Cenote." she takes over for him, and he feels a different kind of bubbling behind his ribcage. Eyes focusing on her, there's a twist of rage, but a distant relief, and he wonders.

Remembering those hands, his own rope belt betraying him. Screaming pleading.

The door, the window.

"He was so frantic..." Imelda's voice sounds far away, and there's a rushing in his skull, an echo in his cranium, a realization that when they arrived it could have been interpreted as- "And when the picture came together... I almost left him there! Raced straight in because  _how dare_ that man even  _think_  of trying to do such a thing!" she growls, hands curling and there's a coil.

She doesn't know. She doesn't realize.

He shudders, feeling the rolling waves of anger and rage from Imelda. Such a horrible echo of-

"And seeing him like that, looming over you." her breath hitches, and he wants to open his mouth to say "I can only be glad that it seems like we made it just in time to prevent him from doing anything." he can't. He finds that his mouth seems to have sealed itself shut and he can only make a small breathy sound.

A small whine, a sound that's more or less pure distress. Imelda picks up on it, and she looks like she wants to reach for him. She even does start reaching for him, before stopping herself. He stares at her hands, watching as she pulls herself back. He watches as she comforts herself, comforts herself with that thought.

_Just in time_

He shakes his head just slightly.

_"Does this mean Papa Héctor's going to get pregnant?"_

"And after we sent Miguel home, got you home... well" Imelda's markings glow slightly, a kind of odd embarrassed glow and he blinks. Wondering what she could possibly be so embarrassed by. She doesn't look at him, looking out the window and into the courtyard, he follows her gaze wondering what he's supposed to look at.

If anything.

"Well, I took Pepita and we decided to make sure that Ernesto well and truly got the message of  _exactly_  what we thought of his actions." she curls her hands, and he blinks. Brow pulling together as he tries to understand what he's hearing.

"Wh-what... What did you do?" he finds his voice and he should really correct her. He should tell-

She turns to him. A sharp and vicious edge to her smile as she answers.

"Why, we gave him a repeat performance of his death of course!" she says, voice rolling oddly sweet like honey. But all he can do is blink, confused. Because that doesn't make any sense to him. "Now why don't you rest mi Amor, you still look like you need it."

"I-" but she's already sweeping out of the room, leaving him.

He takes a breath, body trembling as Dante whines and moves once more to press into his side. He, he has a choice. Call her back and correct her or-

That creeping chilling feeling of shame weighs heavy, he already knows which choice he's making. So he bites his metaphorical tongue and let's himself fall back into the too soft sheets and mattress. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, before he curls himself around, and just trembles.

He wants to cry.

But that seems beyond him, so all he does is shake.


End file.
